Given the fairly dreadful weather over the last couple of months, I’ve been trying to track down a half-remembered quotation to the effect that the worst winter ever was one summer in England.
In fact, I’ve found that the actual wording is, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” – a quotation often misattributed to Mark Twain – which doesn’t really fit the bill.
Continue reading “seasons in the sun”
Although all the images in this post have something in common, I’m not sure that they are, strictly speaking, variations on a theme. That, I think, would imply that the theme had been chosen and the photos taken to illustrate it.
What really happened was that I was looking through the mass of photos I have taken recently trying to find connections: it was a post hoc selection, not premeditated.
Continue reading “on a theme”
The first time I posted the poem 21st-century pugilist to the blog, I didn’t really have the right picture, so it was accompanied by a photo of the wrestler, Stan Roberts.
Now, though, I have a photo of the statue of Randolph Turpin, the boxer, so I think it’s a good time to re-post the poem, which was written in Spain around eight years ago:
Continue reading “sporting blues”
When I posted about the Queen’s birthday a few hours ago, I had forgotten that today was Earth Day.
Having now remembered, I think perhaps this poem and pictures would have been more appropriate, so this weekend we’ll have an additional post.
(Only the top image was taken in Spain, and I’m not really sure that it was actually La Mancha, but that’s probably not that important.)
Continue reading “earth day”
Once more, my head seems to be stuffed so full of cotton wool, clouds or feathers that there’s no room for a single useful or original thought.
I do have a set of rather lovely photos of swans I took recently but I think pretty much everything I’ve written that features birds, feathers or flight has already appeared on the blog at some point, so I’m lacking words to accompany the pictures.
I would have thought that swans should be inspirational and make writing easy as the adult female is a pen. These, though, seem to be mute swans.
Continue reading “swanning around”
don't confuse the narrator 